


Definitely Not Pon Farr

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (because sex pollen), ...yet, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, SHIELD doesn't have forms for that, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: One minute Phil's team was infiltrating an AIM base that was developing a new drug they planned to soon unleash on an unsuspecting civilian population, no doubt causing mayhem in its wake. The next minute a sample vial got dropped, a hazy pink cloud enveloped Agents Javed and Yeong and then… well, Phil was having a hard time finding the right words for what happened after that.





	Definitely Not Pon Farr

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Ralkana!

Of all the ways a mission could have turned into a clusterfuck, this one had to take the proverbial cake, Phil thought as he sat in a hard plastic chair in the waiting area of SHIELD's medical wing. He was trying to write an after-action report that explained exactly where a routine mission had gone so spectacularly wrong.

One minute Phil's team was infiltrating an AIM base that was developing a new drug they planned to soon unleash on an unsuspecting civilian population, no doubt causing mayhem in its wake. The next minute a sample vial got dropped, a hazy pink cloud enveloped Agents Javed and Yeong and then… well, Phil was having a hard time finding the right words for what happened after that.

He'd aborted the mission, ordered Javed, Yeong, and Barton to the nearest exit, and met them in the van. Agents Alisha Javed and Donne Yeong tumbled into the back with profuse and seemingly genuine apologies, but Clint had yanked open the passenger door.

"Is it okay if I ride up here with you, boss? Whatever those two got a dose of, I think it's better to leave them err, alone… together."

"Fine," Coulson said tersely. "You weren't in range of… whatever it was?"

"Don't think so. I feel okay, anyway."

"Good. Hit the decontamination showers when we get back to base, though, just in case," Phil said with a twinge of worry as he put the vehicle in gear.

"Yeah, medical will probably insist, at least until they find out what this stuff is." Clint held up the ziplock bag with the samples he'd grabbed on his way out.

Phil shook his head. People always underestimated Clint; even in a fucked-up situation, he was always thinking. In this case Clint knew SHIELD medical would have a much better chance of treating Javed and Yeong's condition if they had a sample of whatever it was they'd been exposed to.

"Good work, Barton," Phil said over the sounds of distinctly amorous moans and cries coming from the back of the van.

"I'm coming in hot with two compromised agents," Phil said into the van's radio. "We'll need hazmat and decontamination protocols set up for three by the time we arrive."

~~~~~~

"Agent Barton is asking for you," Dr. Warren said.

"Of course." Phil was on his feet and turning towards the door when the doctor put a hand on his arm.

"He's asking for you to help him deal with the effects of the substance that he was exposed to," Dr. Warren said, his voice carefully neutral. "Which include very painful priapism that seems to only be alleviated by a… partner." He glanced down at the data-pad in his hand. "Based on the substance's effects on Agents Javed and Yeong, who now appear to be fully recovered, it would seem that the affected party requires the assistance of a, ah, second party to achieve… relief.

Phil digested this, and blinked. "And Agent Barton is asking for my…. assistance."

"If you'd prefer not to assist him, I will let him know that he needs to ask someone else."

"No, no. Of course I'm willing to, ah… alleviate Agent Barton's condition. That is, I'm happy to… ah…"

Dr. Warren took pity on Phil and led him to one of the quarantine rooms in SHIELD's medical wing. Phil noted that the curtains on the large observation windows were drawn.

"Is there anything I should…" Phil trailed off as he felt his ears burning.

"Just do what comes naturally, and it should be fine," Dr. Warren said with a smile that was much too close to a smirk for Phil's liking.

He squared his shoulders then opened the door and walked into the room, to find a half-naked, sweating Clint Barton handcuffed to the bed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Phil asked, turning back to Dr. Warren.

"The restraints are for his own protection. He was in danger of injuring himself."

"Phil, please. I need your help," Clint called from the bed. Phil looked daggers at Dr. Warren then closed the door on him and hurried over to Clint's bedside.

"Let me get you out of those cuffs," Phil said, looking unhappily at the angry red marks on Clint's wrists.

"No, Phil, it's okay. The cuffs are because I couldn't stop myself from trying to… I… I need… Please, I just need… It hurts." The last two words were closer to a whimper than Phil had ever heard from Clint, and he'd seen Clint badly injured more than once.

"Jesus, Clint." Despite the thin sheet covering Clint from the waist down, he could see Clint's… problem. He unbuttoned his cuffs and started rolling up his sleeves and Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. I… I asked for you because I didn't want anyone else to see me like this. I trust you, Phil."

Clint's words hit Phil like a punch to the gut. "It's going to be okay," Phil said as he poured lube into his right hand and then put the bottle back. "You're going to be fine."

Clint closed his eyes as Phil reached under the sheet and wrapped his fingers around Clint's hard cock. Clint screamed, and Phil jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned, dragging the sheet off in the process.

"No, Phil, I need it please. Please Phil, it just hurts because I rubbed myself raw, before they cuffed me. But I need… please." Phil could hear the desperation in Clint's voice and tore his eyes away from the sight of Clint's red, raw cock to look up at his face. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. "Please Phil," Clint whispered. "I can take the pain. I need to come."

Phil set his mouth in a hard line to stop himself from saying something stupid and unhelpful. He knew the medical staff had already tried everything else they could think of. "Okay," he said, blowing his breath out. "Okay, we're going to do this." Phil reached for the bottle of lube and poured almost half of it onto Clint's cock. Then added even more to his own hand before taking Clint in the gentlest, loosest grip that he could manage.

Clint hissed as Phil's fingers wrapped around him, and then moaned as Phil gave his cock one slow, gentle stroke.

"How's that?" Phil asked.

"Good. It's good." Clint gasped. His head fell back onto the pillows and Phil could see Clint's white-knuckled grip on the bedrail that he was handcuffed to.

"Good. Tell me what you need. Faster, slower, tighter, looser, whatever. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." Phil was using his best 'talking a panicky agent through a fucked-up mission' voice, and it seemed to help a little. Clint relaxed a fraction.

"Yeah, okay. What you're doing now is good. It shouldn't take long, I just need…" Clint's voice got thick and Phil glanced up to see tears trickling out of Clint's tightly closed eyes. Phil forced himself to continue the slow gentle strokes on Clint's cock, telling himself that stopping now would be worse than anything Clint was currently going through.

"Faster and a little, oh god, a little tighter," Clint moaned.

Phil sped up his strokes and squeezed just a little tighter, frowning when Clint made a high-pitched noise that was definitely pain, rather than pleasure, but despite his conflicting emotions, Phil continued to jerk Clint off in a smooth rhythm.

"That's good. That's good Phil, just like that. I'm close, I…" Clint gasped and panted, and Phil could feel his thigh muscles tightening and his cock filling just a little more. Phil couldn't decide where to look. Looking at Clint's face, his eyes screwed tight shut, tear tracks running from the corners of his eyes, made him want to kill whoever had developed this drug in the first place. Looking at his own hand around Clint's red, leaking cock, however, made Phil feel things that he usually managed to keep buried down deep.

Clint let out a couple of short cries and spasmed, his muscles going taut as he came into Phil's fist. Phil carefully unwrapped his fingers and, feeling somewhat foolish, tried to lay Clint's spent cock gently against his still-trembling thigh. He wiped his hand on the sheet and looked up, and was horrified to see a trickle of blood on Clint's right wrist where the handcuff had bitten into his skin. Phil was standing up to call a nurse when the door to the room opened and Dr. Warren came in, followed by a nurse.

"If Agent Barton's reaction to the drug is consistent with what Agents Javed and Yeong experienced, he'll have approximately ten minutes of relief before the priapism re-appears." The doctor wrapped a blood pressure cuff around one of Clint's arms and inflated it, then took a syringe out of the pocket of his lab coat and drew a blood sample.

"Re-appears? You mean it's going to come back? Isn't there anything you can do?" Phil couldn't imagine going through that with Clint a second time.

"The blood tests should tell us more about the progression of the drug in his system. Go ahead, nurse." Dr. Warren nodded at the nurse who put a square package the size of a hardback book wrapped in a white towel on Clint's groin. Clint whimpered.

"What is that?" Phil knew his voice was louder and angrier than it should be, but Clint was in pain.

"Ice pack. To try to delay the onset of the priapism," the nurse answered.

"Clint, do you want the ice pack?" Phil asked. No one seemed to be paying much attention to what Clint was going through, and Phil wasn't okay with that.

"Yeah, it helps a little with the soreness. Uh, Doc? Did Alisha and Donny say how many times they, uh… did the, uh, symptoms came back?"

"Agents Javed and Yeong stated that the drug seemed to have run its course after they had experienced six orgasms each."

Clint went white. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the bed.

"But since you were further away from the vial when it was dropped, you might have been exposed to less of the agent." Dr. Warren turned to leave.

"Doctor, aren't you going to do anything about Agent Barton's wrists?" Phil was using his 'this is a formal request' tone.

Dr. Warren glanced at where Clint was still handcuffed to the bed. "It's just a scratch, my priority right now is to analyze these blood samples so that we can learn more about‑"

"Is that going to help you figure out a cure for this in the next ten," Phil glanced at his watch "Make that six, minutes?"

"No, of course not, but-"

"Well in that case, I'm going to insist that you order Agent Barton's wrists cleaned and bandaged, and those cuffs substituted for proper medical restraints that won't cause further damage to one of SHIELD's most valuable assets." The look Phil was giving the doctor had made other, smarter men piss themselves. Dr. Warren just blinked and said, "Of course. Nurse, see to it."

"I'll need to go see who has the key to the handcuffs," the nurse said.

"Don't worry about getting them off, I'll take care of that. Just bring bandages and a set of proper restraints. Or maybe," Phil turned to Clint. "With me here to, ah, help, do you really need the restraints?"

Clint sighed. "I'd love to tell you I'll be fine without them," he said. "But you should have seen me before they cuffed me, Phil. I couldn't help myself even though I knew I was rubbing my cock raw and it hurt like fuck. I… I think I'd better keep them."

Phil nodded. He was already picking the locks on the cuffs with his tie-pin. "You're going to be okay, Clint. We're going to get through this."

The look in Clint's eyes said otherwise. The nurse came back with bandages and a set of wide leather restraints. Phil stepped back to let her clean and dress the abrasions on Clint's wrists. Phil took out his phone and sent a text message to Dr. Sanchez, flagged Emergency Priority. "Need you to take over Clint Barton's care ASAP." Then he dialed the Communications department.

"Agent Klein? Phil Coulson. I'm declaring a Situation Victor Foxtrot. I want you to shut down all video and audio surveillance and recording in Medical Wing B, Quarantine Suite 3, on my personal authority. If anyone makes a fuss they can take it up with Fury today, or with me tomorrow. Clear?" Phil listened for a minute, then said, "Sure," and rattled off his SHIELD ID and a set of security codes confirming his identity and his authorization levels. "Thank you Cameron, I appreciate it." As he was putting his phone away, Dr. Warren came rushing back into the room.

"I just lost the video feed from this room."

"Yes. I had it turned off."

"But I need to monitor my patient!" Dr. Warren was indignant.

"You have the readouts of his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and respirations, and I'll be with him the whole time, so if there's an emergency I can call for help."

"But-"

"And," Phil said, calmly taking his sidearm out of its holster and laying it on the bed near Clint's feet. "If anyone opens those curtains, I'll shoot them. Is that clear? Now get out." Phil stripped his shoulder holster rig off and hung it on a chair, then started to unbutton his shirt.

For a moment it looked like Dr. Warren was going to refuse, or argue, and Phil almost wanted him to, because punching the good doctor in the nose would make him feel a little bit better about this mess.

"I… I need to go run these blood tests," the doctor said, and fled, closing the door behind himself.

"Phil," Clint said from the bed, and Phil turned. He swallowed, and tried to keep a calm expression on his face. Clint was sweating and shaking again, and, having kicked the sheet off himself, completely naked. His hard cock had dislodged the useless ice pack and was straining upwards, angry red and leaking. If the circumstances were different, Phil thought, and then shoved that thought firmly out of his mind. He finished taking off his shirt and stripped off his undershirt, dropping both on the chair.

"What are you doing?" Clint asked.

"I thought of something that might hurt less than my hand," Phil said, and climbed onto the bed, straddling Clint's knees and planting his hands by Clint's hips.

Clint's eyes went wide. "Phil, you don't have to do that. I can handle it, just-"

"Will it make you uncomfortable if I suck your cock, Clint?" Phil asked in all seriousness. Fuck knew what kind of issues Clint might have, and he was already badly compromised by the situation. Phil sure as hell didn't want to make things any worse.

Clint made a choking noise that Phil realize was a laugh. "Uncomfortable? No, Phil. It won't make me uncomfortable."

"In that case just lie back and try to relax and let me do this, okay?" Phil tried to smile reassuringly, but he wasn't sure how successful it was.

"Relax. Yeah, right."

It had been a while since Phil Coulson had sucked cock, but it wasn't a skill you tended to forget. The hardest part was going to be not using his hands. That's why he'd taken his shirt off; he was probably going to get drool and cum all over the damn place. But despite the circumstances, his mouth was already watering at the prospect. 'Just get the job done,' he reminded himself, and opening his mouth as widely as he could and keeping his teeth carefully tucked behind his lips, he engulfed the head of Clint's cock.

Clint shouted and bucked under him, shoving his cock into Phil's throat and choking him. Phil gave a short, muffled cough.

"Sorry, sorry Phil, I couldn't help it. Sorry."

"It's okay, it's fine. I just wasn't… it's fine Clint."

"Look, if you're sure you want to do it this way, you'd better hold my hips. 'Cause I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep still on my own."

Phil wanted to object, but he saw Clint's logic. He put his hands on Clint's over-heated skin, cupping the jut of Clint's hip-bones in his palms and pinning Clint firmly to the bed. "Is that okay?"

Clint just nodded, his fever-bright eyes fixed on Phil's face.

'Get the job done, Coulson,' Phil told himself again, and took the head of Clint's cock in his mouth. Clint moaned and tried to buck up under him, but Phil had no trouble holding him down, exhausted as Clint was. Phil opened his mouth wide and tried to relax his throat. He slid down onto Clint's cock inch-by-inch, working it lightly with his tongue as he did. The noises Clint was making were, well, obscene. He moaned and gasped and swore, using Phil's name as an expletive one minute and a prayer the next. Between that and the taste of Clint, the smell of his musky sweat, the feel of his skin under Phil's hands… Phil started to get hard in spite of himself.

Phil tried to concentrate on his objective; sucking Clint's cock to get him off, but that didn't forestall his body's reaction to the situation. It didn't help matters that he harbored a secret attraction to Clint, and the idea of their relationship one day becoming physical had crossed Phil's mind more than once before now.

"Phil. God, Phil that's so good. So good," Clint moaned, and Phil tried to catalogue what he'd just been doing in order to repeat it. He had as much of Clint's cock in his mouth as he could manage, and was working the underside with the tip of his tongue, stroking it. Phil redoubled his efforts.

"Yeah. Oh God, yeah. Just like that. That's so good. I'm so close." Clint's panted words went straight to Phil's libido, and he was half-hard in his pants, working frantically at Clint's cock with lips and tongue. Clint's hips strained under his hands and Phil grasped them more firmly to keep Clint in place, hoping he wasn't leaving bruises to exacerbate Clint's other injuries. Phil could hear a metallic rattle as Clint pulled against the restraints around his wrists.

"Phil! I'm gonna… You need to… I'm gonna…"

Phil knew he should pull off, but he didn't want to. Whether it was hubris or misplaced feelings or just his own brand of stubbornness, he wasn't going to quit now. As Clint's cock twitched in his mouth, Phil sealed his lips and sucked. And swallowed as Clint came down his throat.

"Oh, fuck," Clint moaned softly. "Oh, fuck." 

Phil let up the suction and swallowed one last time, then opened his mouth and moved off slowly. Normally when he was doing this for a partner, Phil would lick and suck a little on his way off, cleaning up and keeping the contact for a while longer. But since he knew how sore Clint was, he just slid off quickly, letting Clint's wet, glistening cock slide out of his mouth and rest on Clint's thigh.

Phil sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. And when it came away covered in spit and cum, he grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped his face and hands. Then, out of some absurd sense of propriety, he used the sheet to cover Clint up to the waist.

"How're you feeling?" Phil asked, trying to figure out the least inelegant way to climb down off Clint's bed.

"Like I just had my cock sucked by a fucking expert. Phil that was… that was amazing."

Phil couldn't help but smile. He knew that most of Clint's reaction was a result of the drug, but still, it did Phil's nearing-50-year-old ego good to hear that he could still rock someone's world with a blowjob. 'Fuck it,' Phil thought as he heard the door open, and, putting his hands on the bed rail, vaulted over it to land beside Clint's bed, facing the door where Dr. Sanchez was entering, followed closely by Dr. Warren and the nurse.

"Dr. Sanchez, thank you very much for coming," Phil said, extremely glad that he had wiped his face. "I am making a formal request that Clint Barton be released into my care until his symptoms have subsided. I believe there are regulations about patient comfort and dignity that apply in this situation."

"This situation is unprecedented, but I'm inclined to agree with you," Dr. Sanchez looked thoughtful. "Agent Barton is clearly in no medical danger as long as you are, ah, assisting him in the relief of his symptoms, and this environment is hardly conducive to patient privacy."

"But you can't! The blood tests to track the progression of the drug in his system‑" Dr. Warren was objecting.

"The progression of the drug in his system is of research interest only and doesn't override a patient's right to as much comfort and dignity as we can provide."

"But‑"

"I'm taking over Agent Barton's care. You are dismissed, Dr. Warren," Dr. Sanchez said.

Dr. Warren looked like he was going to argue, so Phil glanced pointedly at his gun which was still lying on the foot of Clint's bed, and then back at Warren who seemed to get the message and left the the room.

"Go get me a monitoring anklet so we can keep tabs on his heart rate, temperature, and blood pressure," Dr. Sanchez said to the nurse, then she turned to Phil. "You're not taking him off base."

Phil shook his head. "No, just to my temp quarters."

Dr. Sanchez nodded. "Okay, but there's one thing I need to be sure of first. Drop your pants."

"Excuse me?" Phil was pretty sure he managed not to squeak. From behind him, Clint chuckled, so maybe he had squeaked, just a little.

"If I'm going to release Barton into your care, I need to know you're not also compromised. You could have been contaminated by him or Javed and Yeong in the van."

"I'm fine," Phil said, relaxing.

"I'm glad to hear it, but I can't take your word for it. So unless you want one of Dr. Warren's blood tests to make sure the drug isn’t in your system, drop your pants so that I can, ah, ascertain that you're unaffected." Dr. Sanchez managed to say that with a straight face which impressed the hell out of Phil. He sighed and unbuckled, keeping his eyes on a point over Dr. Sanchez's left shoulder as he shoved his slacks and boxers down to his hips.

He was, in fact, still a little hard from sucking Clint's cock, but not enough to really be noticeable and certainly not enough to be mistaken for the rampant priapism that Clint was suffering from.

"Okay," Dr. Sanchez said, "You can get dressed. I'll release Barton to you on the condition that he wears the monitor and reports back here for a full work-up after his symptoms have passed."

"Thank you, Doctor. Can we get him something to wear?"

"All we have are hospital gowns and scrubs."

"A pair of scrub pants will be a lot better than walking the corridors buck-assed naked," Clint said from the bed. Then, "Thanks Phil."

"Yes, well, a bit of privacy is in order. For both of us." Phil pulled out his phone. "This is Agent Coulson. Pursuant to the ongoing situation Victor Foxtrot in the medical wing, I need all corridors between Med Wing B, Quarantine Suite 3, and Senior Agents' temp quarters in Sector 3 cleared due to possible biological contamination. Code Magenta. No one in those corridors for the next ten minutes, not even security, is that clear?"

Dr. Sanchez's eyebrows went up but she didn't say anything, instead taking the monitoring anklet from the nurse and sending her off to get a pair of scrub pants for Clint.

"Fury is going to have your ass," Clint said.

"He owes me one. Here, let's get you unshackled. Time's getting short." Phil freed Clint's wrists from the bed rails.

"Yeah, about that. You'd better leave the restraints on, and clip them behind my back."

"Are you sure?"

Clint sighed and nodded. "When it comes on, Phil it's… it's excruciating. I can't help myself, even though I know that trying to, uh, you know, do something about it is only going to hurt like hell. It's…" Clint's face crumpled.

"Hey, it's okay. You're going to be okay." Phil reached for Clint's hands and fastened them together behind his back, then slipped his hand into one of Clint's and squeezed. He got a somewhat reassuring squeeze back.

Dr. Sanchez and the nurse helped Clint into the scrub pants and his boots while Phil strapped on his holster and secured his sidearm, not bothering to put his shirt back on first.

"Okay, ready to go?"

Clint nodded.

"The coast is clear," the nurse said from the door.

"Good luck. Call me if you need anything else," Dr. Sanchez said, handing Phil a plastic bag. He glanced inside and found that it contained two large bottles of medical lubricant and a number of other… supplies.

"Thanks," Phil said tightly. "Come on, Clint. Let's go."

Under normal circumstances it was a five-minute brisk walk from the medical wing to the Sr. Agents' temporary quarters, so Phil knew they were going to be cutting it close. By the time they were halfway there, walking as quickly as Clint could manage through the eerily deserted corridors, Phil knew they weren't going to have time for anything elaborate when they got there.

Clint stumbled and Phil grabbed him by the arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just… starting again," Clint said, red-faced and trembling.

"We're nearly there, you can make it."

"Yeah," Clint said, his face set in a mask of grim determination. No matter how bad it got, Clint would be able to stumble as far as the door to Phil's quarters, because the alternative was unthinkable. Still it was a close thing, and Clint was gasping and sweating by the time they lurched through into Phil's room and he locked the door behind them.

Having had the last three minutes to think about it and make a plan, Phil knew exactly what to do next. He dropped to his knees, untied the drawstring on Clint's scrub pants and slid them down, and opened his mouth.

"Phil," Clint said, sounding agonized, "You don't… I…"

"Take whatever you need," Phil said, then moved in close, put his hands on Clint's hips and his lips on Clint's cock.

Clint cried out and his hips bucked. Phil opened his mouth wide and let Clint set the pace. After a couple of deep, frantic strokes that made Phil's eyes water, Clint seemed to get himself under some measure of control and started to stroke more slowly and more shallowly, making noises that sounded more like pain than pleasure to Phil's ears. He looked up to see Clint staring down at him, face twisted in anguish.

"Phil," Clint said, stroking faster and deeper. "I'm sorry, Phil, I can't… I can't…"

Phil wrapped his arms around Clint's hips and put his hands on Clint's back, trying to signal that it was okay, that Clint should take whatever he needed. Phil breathed shallowly through his nose and tried to relax as much as he could while the head Clint's cock nudged the back of his throat. Again, despite himself, despite the situation, despite everything, Phil started to get hard. And this time, probably because he was in his own quarters, behind a locked door, and because the sounds Clint was making had tipped over to loud moans of pleasure, Phil's arousal grew until he was fully erect and leaking inside the confines of his hastily-refastened trousers.

It only took Clint another minute to come, but it was one of the longest minutes of Phil's life. Once he'd swallowed, pulled off carefully, and wiped his mouth, Phil looked up and saw something that made his hard-on wilt. Clint had tears streaming down his face. Phil scrambled to his feet and pulled Clint into his arms.

"What's wrong? Has it gotten worse? Do you need me to call Dr. Sanchez?" Phil asked as he stroked Clint's hair, not caring for a second that this felt far more intimate than sucking Clint's cock had been.

"No, it's okay. I'll be okay, it's just…" Clint sniffled and sighed, leaning heavily into Phil's chest. "It just hurts so much every time I get hard, and then when I get close enough, it's, uh, a lot more intense than normal, so it's just kind of…" Clint sighed again.

"Overwhelming?" Phil suggested, still stroking Clint's hair.

"Yeah, overwhelming. That's a good way to put it. Anyway thanks, for… for everything."

Phil didn't know what to say to that, 'You're welcome' seemed absurd. So instead he got them both moving. Phil unclipped Clint's hands from behind his back and guided him over to the bed. "Here, sit down for a minute." Then Phil rummaged through the bag Dr. Sanchez had given him and handed Clint a bottle of Gatorade. "Drink as much as you can. You're dehydrated."

While Clint was gulping electrolytes, Phil slid the scrub pants the rest of the way off his legs and tossed them into a corner of the room.

Clint finished his drink and put the empty bottle on the floor, wincing a little when he bent over.

"Why don't you lie down and try to get comfortable, here," Phil said, arranging a couple of pillows.

"You're going to have to tie me down again," Clint said, looking resigned.

"I know, but let's wait until the time comes. Who knows, maybe the drug is out of your system?"

Clint shook his head, "I can feel it building. It starts again almost right after I come, it just takes a while before it gets, uh, urgent."

"Okay, well before that happens, I had an idea I wanted to discuss with you. Something that will probably hurt less, if it works, and if you're comfortable with it."

"I'm all ears."

"Have you ever, ah, that is to say do you know if you…" Phil cleared his throat. This had been much easier in his head. "Can you come from just, ah, internal prostate stimulation?"

Clint blinked at him. "Oh, you mean like by using, uh, toys. Yeah, I mean I can, but I don't think that's going to help because the, uh, drug seems to somehow make it so you need another person to uh… help. That's how this, uh, happened," Clint said, gesturing at his raw, sore cock.

"Yes, I realize that. I was planning on using my fingers. If you're comfortable with that."

"Comfortable with you sticking your fingers in my ass and rubbing my happy button until I come?" Clint said, incredulous.

An image of Clint, manacled to his bed, writhing on his fingers flashed across Phil's mind and his cock sprang back to full hardness.

Clint, meanwhile, was staring up at the ceiling. "Go for it," he said.

"Only if you're sure, Clint. If not we can think of something else, or I can suck you again."

Clint shuddered. "I am completely, totally, one-hundred-percent okay with getting off in a way that doesn't involve anything touching my cock," he said, which made Phil feel like shit. Here he was getting aroused by Clint's body when he was obviously miserable and in pain. "And you better tie me up now, it's starting to get bad again."

Sure enough Clint's already red cock was twitching and filling on his thigh.

Phil quickly secured Clint's wrists to the slatted headboard of the bed and grabbed one of the bottles of lubricant that Dr. Sanchez had thoughtfully provided. Then he had a thought.

"This is going to get messy," Phil said, putting his hands on his belt buckle. "Do you mind if I lose these?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

Phil thought for a minute about keeping his underwear on, but Clint was going to know regardless, so he stripped down completely, then climbed onto the bed. "Sorry about that," Phil said as he positioned himself on the bed and his hard-on nudged Clint's hip.

Clint cracked something that was probably meant to be a grin. "Involuntary reaction?" he asked.

Phil considered his response carefully. He refused to lie to Clint, but this certainly wasn't the time for heartfelt confessions. "More like inappropriate, considering the circumstances. Is, ah, this okay?" Phil had coated his fingers generously with lube and was delving gently between Clint's ass-cheeks.

"Yeah," Clint said, hitching up one knee and spreading his legs wide to give Phil more room. "Yeah, it's good," he said as Phil rubbed slowly across his pucker with slick fingers.

Phil knew he didn't have time to go as slowly as he would have liked to, but he reminded himself that he wasn't opening Clint up for his cock, all he needed to do was get one, possibly two fingers in so that he could stroke Clint's prostate and make him come. Still, he was loath to cause Clint any more pain, if he could help it, so he eased in carefully with just the tip of one finger.

"Yeah, that's good like that," Clint said in a breathy voice. "It's been a while, so if you can take it slow, that'd be, uh, good."

"As slow as you need," Phil said, stroking gently in and out with his fingertip. "How about you tell me when you feel you're ready for more?"

"Heh," Clint said, and it was almost a chuckle. "In a couple of minutes I'm not gonna have a shred of self-control. It's, uh, kinda humiliating. S'why I asked for you. I knew you'd be… steady. You can give me a little more now."

Phil felt anything but steady as he eased his finger into Clint's ass up to the first knuckle. His cock was trapped against Clint's hip and it was taking a considerable amount of willpower not to rut against the warm skin there. He wondered if he should have left his underwear on after all, despite the discomfort.

"Mmm. Forgot how good this feels when it's a person and not a rubber toy." Clint tilted his hips, shoving himself a little further onto Phil's finger.

"Easy," Phil said. "I've got you."

"Not much time left for easy, Phil."

"All right, let me just," Phil adjusted the angle of his wrist to be a little more comfortable and slid his finger in past the second knuckle.

"Yeah. Come on, Phil, I need it."

"I know. I'm going to give you what you need, just try to relax and take it for me. Can you do that, Clint?"

Clint turned wide, bright, eyes on him. "For you, Phil," he whispered.

"Okay, that's good." Phil's voice cracked, but he figured Clint was already too far gone to notice. "That's good." Phil pumped his finger in and out of Clint's ass a couple more times, then withdrew completely and squeezed the tips of his first two fingers tightly together. Before Clint could whine a complaint, Phil was pushing them back in slowly.

Clint groaned. "Yeah, oh yeah. That's so good, Phil. Feels so good to have you touching me like that."

It felt good to Phil, too. To be pressed up against Clint's warm, naked body, giving him pleasure. 'He's compromised,' Phil reminded himself again as he probed deeper with his fingers and drew a moan and a sigh from Clint. 'The drug is making his say and do things he wouldn't normally. He said himself just now that he felt humiliated. None of this is real.'

"Phil, please. I need it. I need to come, please."

"Okay, okay, I'm here," Phil had to resist the urge to kiss Clint's knee to reassure him. He twisted his wrist, searching for and finding the smooth bump of Clint's prostate and stroked it with the pads of his fingers.

"Oh god, yes." Clint bucked under him, then collapsed, going plaint and loose-limbed. "Yes, yes. Just like that. That's so good, just like that," Clint murmured as Phil kept up a slow, gentle rhythm.

"Good, that's good," Phil said, hanging onto the shreds of his own self-control by his fingernails. "Just relax and let it happen."

"Yeah." Clint's eyes were closed but his face was blissful. "Yeah, just a little more, I'm almost there. So good, Phil. I'm close."

Phil stroked just a little faster, hoping to get Clint off easily and without any pain for the first time since this whole ordeal began, But after another minute, Clint started to move his hips in little thrusting movements.

"Almost. Almost there. Just a little more. Fuck. I need…"

"What do you need, Clint?"

"I… More. I'm so close but it's not enough. I… oh, fuck. Phil, please…" Clint's face twisted from pleasure to fear.

"What else can I do? What do you like, Clint? What turns you on?" And Phil wished he was asking those questions under almost any other circumstances than these.

"I…" Clint squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "My nipples. They're sensitive."

The words were hardly out of Clint's mouth before Phil was ducking his head down to Clint's chest and flicking one small, pert, pink nipple with his tongue.

"Oh fuck." Clint thrashed under him. "Oh, fuck, Phil. Yeah. That's… yeah," and Clint's words disintegrated into a series of low moans that made Phil's hard cock ache. He tried to ignore it, concentrating on Clint's chest instead. He couldn't reach Clint's other nipple without some acrobatics that he didn't want to risk at the moment, so he simply went to work with his lips and tongue, licking, sucking, and gently nipping. Sucking seemed to get the most response, with Clint moaning loudly and pushing his chest up towards Phil's mouth, so he sealed his lips and sucked, gently at first and then harder as Clint moaned louder.

"Yeah, Phil. Like that. I'm gonna…I'm gonna… Yeah."

Phil felt a splatter of cum hit his chin. He lifted his fingers off Clint's prostate, but didn't pull them out right away, and eased the suction off Clint's nipple. Under him, Clint panted and shuddered through a long series of aftershocks that Phil could feel around his fingers. As they finally subsided, he withdrew, dropping his hand to the bed and leaning his forehead on Clint's shoulder, panting himself as he tried to force himself to shift his own hips back so that his cock would no longer be pressed up against Clint's damp skin.

"Give me just a minute, then I'll untie you and get you something to drink," Phil said tiredly. He couldn't imagine how exhausted Clint was.

"No rush."

"How…" Phil cleared his throat. "How do you feel? Can you tell if that was, ah…"

"The last one? I… I don't think so. Oh god, Phil, we're going to have to do that again."

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck, no, I didn't mean," Clint opened his eyes and turned his head, so that he was staring into Phil's from an inch away. "That might have been the best sex I've ever had, Phil. You were completely awesome. I'm just so tired and my cock hurts and everything aches and… You know how you feel when you've been on a really rough mission, one where you had to be on alert for weeks at a time, and you just start to feel… wrung out?"

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," Phil said, pushing himself into a sitting position and unhooking the restraints from the bed frame so that Clint could do the same.

"Yeah, well it's like that, except doubled, or tripled or something. God, I don't know I just…" Clint dropped his face into his freed hands and sighed.

"Here, drink some of this," Phil said, nudging Clint with a bottle of Gatorade.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." Clint took the bottle and drained half of it. "You should drink some too."

Phil took the bottle and had a couple of swallows, then offered it back to Clint, who shook his head, and flopped back down on the bed. Phil felt awkward, sitting next to him, naked and with a mostly hard cock (though thankfully Clint hadn't said anything about it), but he couldn't think of what else to do. Getting up and putting clothes on would be weird. And Phil, to his shame, didn't actually want to. As difficult as it was to lie next to Clint, his hard cock against Clint's bare skin, as he got Clint off, Phil wanted this one opportunity to know what it felt like. To be able to touch Clint, to watch him come. It made him feel dirty, but Phil couldn't help it. And couldn't deny himself this chance.

Clint was rubbing his hands on the bed sheets under him, looking uncomfortable.

"Is there anything I can do to, ah, help right now?" Phil asked.

Clint looked up at him, and there was something in his eyes, something Phil didn't understand.

"I, uh…" Clint shook his head. "No, I guess not."

"Clint, if there's anything, anything at all I can do to make you feel better, please tell me."

"I… it's just… You're being so great, with everything, I mean, not just the, uh, sex. Holding me and comforting me and everything, I mean. And I just… I'm tied up."

"Would you rather not be tied up next time?" Phil asked.

"No, I'll hurt myself, I won't be able to help it. No, I just… I know it's not… that you're not." Clint blew out his breath in frustration and stared up at the ceiling. "I want to touch you."

'How? Where? Yes please!' was what went through Phil's mind. He didn't say it, though. Instead he lay back down on the bed next to Clint, on his back, arms by his sides, trying hard to ignore his own bobbing cock, and said, "Sure, go ahead."

Clint turned to look at him. "Really?"

"Anything that will make you feel better, Clint. I meant that."

"But only because it'll make me feel better. Not for any other reason." Clint's voice was flat, but Phil could still hear the disappointment in it.

"Clint, you're compromised by the drug. This is not the time to have that conversation."

"When is?"

"Later.” Phil swallowed. “After you've been cleared by Dr. Sanchez, and after you've — after we've both had some time to… process this experience." Phil's heart was pounding and his mouth was dry as he got the right words out. Was there an actual chance that Clint really felt something for him?

"You're just putting me off."

"No, I'm not. You said you trust me. I swear to you, Clint. If a week from now you still want us to have a conversation about…" Phil floundered "about anything to do with what's happened today, or anything you might…" Phil couldn't bring himself to say the word 'feel'.

But Clint took pity on him. "Yeah, okay. Next week. We'll talk. I'm holding you to that."

Phil nodded, "Fine."

"Can I still touch you?" Clint sounded a little wistful.

"Yes, of course." Phil wasn't sure what to expect, but Clint rolled onto his side, pressed close up against Phil's, then raised a hand, and hesitated. "It's fine, go ahead," Phil said. He could only imagine what it must feel like to Clint, being so goddamn vulnerable because of the drug, forced to beg for what he needed from a colleague—no, a friend.

Clint's hand landed slowly, tentatively, on Phil's cheek. The metal clip on the restraint around Clint's wrist hit Phil's collarbone, but he hardly felt it. Clint's hand was warm and soft and gently on his face, and Clint's eyes were staring into his from inches away. 

Clint's thumb stroked along the line of his jaw, and Phil fought to keep his breathing calm and even. He was glad Clint's eyes were still fixed on his, because he could feel his cock betraying how much Clint's touch was affecting him.

"I wanna kiss you," Clint whispered.

"Clint." Phil was supposed to sound firm, in control. He didn't.

"You had your fingers in my ass, Phil. And my cock in your mouth. You gotta let me. You gotta let me have this."

Phil nodded; he'd promised Clint anything, after all.

Clint's lips on his were fire and rain, lighting him up and slaking a long thirst. Phil heard a soft moan and realized it was him, unable to stay silent under the onslaught of Clint's questing mouth. Phil stopped fighting himself and wrapped his arms around Clint's back. Clint moaned his name and licked the seam of his lips, asking for more. Phil gave it to him with another soft moan, letting Clint's tongue explore his mouth, all the while reveling in the taste, the feel of Clint.

Clint's hand left his cheek and slid down his chest, across his belly and into the thatch of hair at his groin. Clint's calloused fingers on his hard cock burned like a brand, and Phil bucked up into Clint's touch.

"I want… Oh fuck, Phil, I need…" Clint's hips rocked, and then he hissed in pain, which shocked Phil out of his lust-induced haze.

"Clint, is it time?"

"Yeah, I need…. Phil, I need…" Phil moved just in time to see Clint reaching for his own cock and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't, you'll just make it worse."

"I know!" Clint's eyes flashed angrily for a moment, then he sighed and rolled onto his back. "Tie me down."

Phil moved quickly, not wanting Clint to be tempted to try to touch himself again. Once both of Clint's wrists were secured to the frame of the bed, Phil paused, trying to somehow mentally and emotionally prepare himself to get Clint off… again.

"Phil? C'mere for a sec?"

Phil leaned in close, wondering if Clint maybe wanted reassurance before they… started.

"Kiss me once more?"

Phil couldn't have denied Clint if his life depended on it. He kissed Clint slowly, firmly, knowing it was probably the last time and trying to make it count. Clint kissed him back deeply and sensuously, straining up to meet his lips as if he couldn't get enough. They were both breathing heavily again when they finally parted, and Phil's cock was fully hard between them.

"Phil, I want you to fuck me."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Phil said after a second's hesitation. It was a terrible idea that lit a fire in Phil's belly.

"Please, Phil. What you did last time was great, but is was only just barely enough, I had to fight for it, and I'm too tired to fight again." Clint was practically begging, but he must have seen the refusal in Phil's eyes and misinterpreted it. "Unless you don't… I mean I know you're only doing this because I needed someone and I asked you."

"Clint, I'll do anything I can to help you through this, anything you want or need. I'm just not sure it's a good idea while you're compromised, to, ah…" Phil trailed off as he realized that his objection was ridiculous…

"So I'm compromised. That's not news here. What's the difference between having my cock in your mouth and your cock in my ass? I want you to take me. I want to feel you fucking me. I want see what you look like while you're nailing my ass. I want to watch your face when you come inside me. That's gonna get me off like nothing ever has, Phil. I want you."

Phil could feel his face heating up, the blush spreading to his shoulders and the heat of Clint's words making his hard cock leak. "Clint." It was much closer to a whine than Phil had intended.

Clint closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. "But you don't want me."

"Clint," Phil reached out and laid a gentle hand on Clint's cheek. "Look at me Clint, please."

Clint turned back and stared at Phil accusingly.

"I want you so much it's making me crazy. But this situation is so fucked up, I don't want to make things any worse. For either of us."

"Promise you it's not gonna make things worse for me, Phil. Besides, you said we'd talk, later. Next week. We'll figure it all out then, okay? For now just fuck me, please?"

Phil took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to find some equilibrium while Clint looked up at him, imploringly and expectantly.

"Alright. Okay. But if…"

"If what?"

"If anything. If you change your mind, or it doesn't feel right, or anything, you have to promise to tell me. Stop me."

"I will, Phil, promise."

It made Phil feel a little better, even though he knew there wasn't a chance in hell of Clint actually stopping him.

"Okay. Let me just grab…" Phil reached over the side of the be and spilled the contents of Dr. Sanchez's bag onto the floor, looking for the condoms he'd seen earlier. He snagged the strip of foil and the bottle of lube and knelt up on the bed, looking down at Clint's flushed, naked body. His hands were straining at the cuffs around his wrists and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looked gorgeous.

"I'm just going to, ah, take care of this first," Phil said, tearing a condom off the strip and gesturing with it. He felt like an idiot, but Clint just nodded, watching. Phil willed his hands not to shake as he rolled the condom on, and tried not to wince at the tightness. He wasn't huge, but he'd been hard for what felt like hours, and his cock was sensitive. 'Not as sensitive as Clint's' he reminded himself.

Phil moved into position between Clint's knees, spread wide to give him room.

"Uh, maybe a pillow under my ass?"

"Yes, good idea." Phil snagged one of the pillows and Clint obligingly lifted to allow him to position it.

Phil refrained from asking Clint if he was ready, or if he was sure, or any of the dozen other stupid, useless questions chasing themselves through Phil's scattered thoughts. He took another deep, fortifying breath and promised himself a very stiff drink when this was all over. Then he flipped open the cap on the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount into his hand.

His first two fingers went in easily, since Clint was still a little loose from earlier, and it didn't take long for Clint to start writhing and panting and begging.

"Easy, just take it easy, I don't want to hurt you." Phil tried to sooth Clint by running a hand up the inside of his thigh.

"Oh fuck, Phil, that feels so good. Give it to me, I can take it. I need it, please."

Phil relented and pulled his fingers most of the way out then squeezed three tightly together and pressed back in slowly.

"Yeah. That's good. That's so good. Can't wait to feel your cock in me, Phil. Can't wait to feel you fucking me. I've wanted that for so long."

Phil's rhythm faltered for a second, but he hoped Clint' hadn't noticed. By now Clint was probably beyond noticing anything smaller than a grenade going off in the next room. Clint couldn't possibly mean what he'd just said. His thoughts were all mixed up because of the drug, that was all, Phil told himself.

"Yeah, yeah, that's good." Clint's eyes fluttered open and found Phil's. "You're great at this. I figured you would be. You're awesome at everything, so it makes sense you'd be great at sex too. I really hope we do it again sometime when I get to participate more," he said with a slightly goofy smile.

"Clint," Phil wasn't sure what to say next.

"I know, I know, we'll talk about it later. I'm good to go now, Phil. Ready for you to fuck me."

Again, Phil refrained from asking 'Are you sure?' this time mostly out of self-preservation. He wasn't sure how much more of Clint's drug-induced sex-drunk babbling he could stand. "All right, spread your knees for me."

Clint did an impressive display of his strength and flexibility, spreading his knees out wide and presenting his ass in a way that Phil felt he shouldn't have found alluring, under the circumstances. He tried to put that thought out of his mind and shuffled into position, then added some more lube to the condom, just in case. He tried to think of something to say, but 'Okay, here we go' seemed too nonchalant and asking Clint if he was ready was obviously pointless. So instead, Phil held Clint's eyes as he positioned himself and then pushed in slowly and carefully, watching for any sign that he was causing pain, while at the same time clamping down on his self-control as hard as he possible could.

It had been a long time for Phil. Working for SHIELD wasn't really conducive to relationships, and he wasn't a Tinder kind of guy. So it had been quite a while since he’d had anything other than his own right hand. And Clint was incredible. Not just his ass, which was definitely incredible, but his body, his mind, his smile, his beautiful eyes, which Phil was currently staring into as he sank deeper and deeper into the fire that was Clint's gorgeous, welcoming body.

"Oh god," Phil heard himself moan.

"Yeah," agreed Clint.

"You feel…" Phil tried to explain, but instead just sighed as he sheathed himself fully and his hips snugged up against the perfect globes of Clint's ass.

"So good," Clint said as he wrapped his legs around Phil's back and tilted his hips up, pulling Phil in just a half-inch more. "Yeah."

"Yeah." Phil's brain was mostly off-line. He knew he had to take care of Clint. By fucking him. Pretty much every other thought had vanished from his head. Planting his hands on the bed on either side of Clint's ribs, he gave a short, experimental stroke. They both moaned.

"You have to tell me," Phil gasped, "what you need. What I need to do to get you off like this. Because I'm not going to last, it's been too long." He hadn't planned on telling Clint that, but he liked the way Clint's eyes went all soft when he said it.

"Could you just go slow for a bit? It won't take much, promise. Then I'll tell you when I'm close and then you can give it to me good."

"Fuck." Just hearing Clint talk like that was straining Phil's control. "Yeah, okay. Slow."

Phil blew out his breath, settled his knees a little wider, and started to stroke in and out of Clint's ass in a slow, even rhythm that he hoped he could keep up for a little while, at least. Clint's eyes were still on him, pinning him as if Phil was the one who was tied down. Tied down to Phil's bed. Naked and sweating and hard while Phil fucked him. Phil was never going to need to look at porn or come up with another sex fantasy. For the rest of his life, all he'd need to do is close his eyes and remember this exact moment.

Clint's biceps bulged as he strained against the restraints. "Wish I could touch you."

"Next time," Phil said without thinking. He wasn't thinking, just feeling. Feeling good. Feeling wanted, feeling strong and sexy and powerful and… Phil loved the way Clint was making him feel. But it wasn't real. Clint was under the influence of the drug and… Phil's rhythm faltered. "I mean‑"

"Talking later. Next week, like you said," Clint said. "Just fuck me now, Phil. I'm close and I need it. Need you to fuck me hard."

"One thing I want to do first." Phil surged forward, trusting Clint's flexibility, and kissed him, hard. 'I'm going to miss this so much,' Phil thought, and with one last caress of Clint's lips, he straightened back up, and started to stroke hard and fast.

"Yes, Phil. Yes. Fuck, yeah. So good. So fucking good. I'm gonna… ah, fuck…" Clint gasped and then screamed as he came, painting both his own and Phil's chests with cum. Phil's' rhythm disintegrated into a series of short, jerky thrusts as he came almost painfully hard. Once he was spent, gasping for breath, he rested his forehead against Clint's collarbone.

"Just give me a minute to recover, then I'll move," Phil said between gulps of air.

"Take your time, I'm good."

"Better than. Much better than," Phil said.

Clint giggled. "I love you post-coital," then seemed to realize what he'd said. "I mean, uh…"

"Talking next week," Phil said. "Recovering now."

"Un-tieing me now?" Clint asked, still giggling a little.

"Yeah. Sorry." Phil pushed himself up on weak arms and worked the catches of the restraints until Clint was no longer tied down to his bed. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Clint said, flexing his arms. "I mean, the sex was fucking fantastic, awesome, and a whole bunch of other adjectives I'm too tired to think of right now. But I'm doing okay. In fact…" An odd expression crossed Clint's face. He lay back on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling of Phil's quarters, and seemed to lose track of his surroundings for a moment.

Phil watched for a minute, and then asked, concerned, "Clint?"

"I'm good. I think… Phil, I think it's over," Clint said with profound relief. "I could always feel it, after, within a couple of minutes, starting to build again, like an itch in my, uh, groin. But not this time. Oh, god, I hope… not that sex with you wasn't really great, 'cause it was, but‑"

"It's fine, Clint. I'm not at all offended that you're glad it's over. Besides, I wouldn't be able to get it up again, anyway."

"I don't care if I don't get an erection for a month. I never though I'd say this, but I'm really, really glad I don't have to have sex again tonight. I'm just so tired." And as if to prove the point, Clint's jaw cracked as he yawned widely.

"If you're sure it's over, I need to at least call Dr. Sanchez and let her know. She'll probably want you back in Medical for more tests."

"Aww, do you hafta? I'm so tired I could sleep for a week." Clint rolled onto his side and snuggled up to Phil, resting his head on Phil's shoulder and looking adorable.

"Give it five more minutes to make sure it's over, and then I'm going to call, but," Phil said as Clint made a noise to object, "I'm going to tell her that you're exhausted, and try to convince her that it's in everyone's best interest to let you get a few hours' sleep before you have to go back to being a guinea pig."

"Thanks, Phil. You're the best," Clint said with another tired yawn. He threw one arm across Phil's chest and snuggled in closer. "Is, uh, this okay?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"It's fine, Clint," Phil said. He shifted enough to be able to fish his phone out the pocket of his pants that were on the floor in a heap by the bed, then settled down with one arm around Clint. "You just rest." Phil resisted the urge to drop a kiss on the top of Clint's head and instead called Dr. Sanchez.

"Agent Barton's vital signs seemed to have leveled off and are rapidly returning to normal ranges," she said without preamble.

"Yes, we… that is to say, he thinks that it's… that the drug has run its course. He feels, ah, okay, but extremely tired; in fact he's asleep now. I was hoping you'd agree that sleep is the best thing for him now and give us, that is to say him, a couple of hours to rest before reporting to medical?" Phil cursed himself inwardly for sounding like a bumbling idiot on the phone.

"While I'm sure Dr. Warren would prefer to get another blood sample immediately, since he's currently reviewing SHIELD's patient treatment protocols, he'll have to learn to live with disappointment."

"I wouldn't be disappointed if he no longer has any patient treatment responsibilities whatsoever," Phil said, still angry about Warren’s callous attitude towards Clint.

"He's a good scientist, he's just not a people person."

"Then transfer him to the research department. We can't afford to have agents treated unsympathetically when they're in pain or distress."

"Yes, you're right, I just haven't had formal grounds to force a transfer before now. If I write up the paperwork, will you and Cl— Agent Barton co-sign it?"

"I will, I can't say for sure about Agent Barton. I'll ask him about it once he wakes up. Is he, ah, likely to, ah, remember everything that happened clearly enough to make a formal statement?"

"From what Agents Javed and Yeong reported, yes. They say they didn't feel like their mental states were altered at all. That is to say they didn't feel like they were drunk or high or anything like that, just that the… stress of the situation made them more likely to say things that they maybe wouldn't otherwise. Agent Javed said it was like a mission that was so fucked up, you threw out the rule book and just did whatever seemed like a good idea at the time."

Phil nodded at the phone. He and Clint had been on more than a few missions like that. Missions where Clint had said, 'Trust me, Boss,' before jumping off a building. Missions where things looked utterly hopeless, but he had said, 'I'll get you out of this safely, I promise,' and Clint had replied, 'I know. You always do.'

"Thank you Doctor, that is… helpful."

"I'm going to refer all four of you to the Psych department for a precautionary assessment; don't try to talk me out of it," Dr. Sanchez said.

Phil sighed. "No, I won't. It's a good idea after something as… personal as this. Good luck getting Clint—Agent Barton—to attend, though."

"I'll just ask Agent Barton's supervisor to give me the authority to lock him out of the range. Which he'll do, because he owes me one," Dr. Sanchez said sweetly.

"Yes, all right. I'll—that is to say Agent Barton will see you in a couple of hours." Phil disconnected the call, set the alarm on his phone for two hours, dropped it beside the bed, and sighed. He had a naked, post-coital Clint Barton snuggled up in bed with him, and he couldn't enjoy it. Because it wasn't real. It wasn't something that he could have for real, but now that he'd had a taste of what it could be like, he wanted it more than ever. Feeling like he was taking a liberty but unable to stop himself from these last few moments of… whatever this was, Phil wrapped his arms around Clint who made a contented-sounding sigh and snuggled closer.

Phil, against all odds, fell asleep, and woke up two hours later to the insistent beeping of his phone alarm.

"Clint, time to wake up," he said, shaking Clint slightly, and getting ready to climb out of bed as soon as Clint released his hold.

"Don' wanna," Clint mumbled into Phil's chest.

"I know, but you have to go see Dr. Sanchez so she can check you out."

"Don' wanna. Wanna stay here. Comfy."

"Clint," Phil said, shaking him harder and trying to wiggle out from under Clint's weight, "I know you don't like going to medical, but you do need to get checked out. I can promise you that Dr. Warren won't be there."

Clint heaved a huge sigh and rolled off Phil, onto his back. "Yeah, whatever."

Phil took the opportunity to get out of bed. "Do you want a shower? I can lend you some clothes."

"Not walking through the halls naked would be good, yeah." Clint was staring up at the ceiling, obviously unhappy. Then he sprang into motion and jumped out of bed, heading for the small bathroom of Phil's quarters. "If you're half as sticky as I am, you'll need a shower too," Clint said, looking Phil up and down in a way that made Phil want to blush. "I'll save you some hot water."

"Thanks." While Clint headed for the shower, Phil gathered up the supplies that Dr. Sanchez had provided from where they were still scattered all over the floor. The still-sealed bottle of lube he put back in the bag, along with the unused condoms and a tube of some sort of Aloe cream. There were two bottles of Gatorade, but Phil left them out for Clint. He was thirsty himself though, and grabbed a bottle of water from his small fridge. He nearly choked on his water when he heard a yell from the bathroom.

Phil sprinted to the bathroom door and threw it open without a thought for Clint's privacy. Through the clear shower curtain he could see that Clint's back was to the spray and he was hunched over, hands on his thighs.

"Clint, what happened, what's wrong? Is it back again?"

"No, thank fuck, no," Clint said, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Clint dragged in a breath, blew it out, and straightened up. Phil glanced down at Clint's limp cock for reassurance, then quickly dragged his eyes up to Clint's face. "The water, it, uh, stung. A lot."

"Ah," Phil said, then suddenly understanding the Aloe cream, "Just a sec, I'll be right back." He hurried out of the bathroom and came back with the tube of cream. "I'm guessing that's why Dr. Sanchez included this," he said, setting the tube down on the back of the toilet. "It will probably make wearing clothes a lot easier."

"Oh, fuck," Clint moaned in a tone that very eloquently conveyed how much he didn't want anything touching his sore cock right now.

"They've got some, ah, anesthetic sprays in Medical," Phil said, trying to be encouraging. Clint gave him a look that said, 'Fuck my entire life'. "I'll just leave you to, ah, finish up."

Phil retreated from the bathroom and dug some clothes out for Clint. Rather than the black SHIELD-issue cargo pants he'd been planning to lend, instead he pulled out his baggiest pair of sweats. The ones he slept in when he'd been awake so long that his body temperature had dropped, and even turning up the heat in his quarters didn't help. All his t-shirts would be too tight across Clint's shoulders, so he pulled out a thin, stretchy undershirt that was really intended for cold weather, but would at least not split at the seams if Clint happened to flex while wearing it. He added socks and a pair of smooth, stretchy, form-fitting tactical boxer-briefs, though he doubted Clint would wear the latter.

Phil waved at the pile of clothes when Clint came out of the bathroom, still naked and scrubbing his hair with a towel, and headed for his turn in the shower. When he came back out, a towel wrapped discreetly around his waist, he found Clint sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing his clothes, hair standing up in damp spikes, and toying with a half-empty bottle of Gatorade.

"Don't…" Clint sighed and looked at the floor. "I'm not trying to duck going to Medical. Just…" he glanced up "Come with me?"

Phil's eyebrows went up.

"Dr. Sanchez will have questions about what… we did. You can help me remember."

"Clint, are you having trouble remembering what, ah, happened over the past few hours?"

"I mean, like I know what we did, it's just a little fuzzy. Like when you've had a couple of beers. Not really drunk, but just…"

"I think I understand," Phil said gently. Clint had been exhausted and in pain and focused on his… condition. It was no wonder his mind hadn't been tracking very well. "Of course I'll come with you, if you want me to."

"It's late," Clint said, shrugging.

"I slept when you did. I'll be fine for a while. Just give me two minutes to put some clothes on."

Phil headed for his closet and tried to figure out what to wear. Putting on a suit seemed to be overdoing it somehow. And something in the back of his mind didn't want to go back to being 'Senior Agent Coulson' quite yet. Not while Clint still seemed to need him.

So Phil pulled out the cargo pants he'd intended to lend Clint, and put them on along with a faded grey SHIELD t-shirt and running shoes from his spare gym bag. He grabbed the bag to return to Dr. Sanchez, trying to ignore what was inside, and nodded to Clint, who hauled himself stiffly to his feet.

They headed through silent, almost-deserted corridors back to the medical wing, and into the office where Dr. Sanchez was playing cards with a male nurse. She put her cards face down on the table and jerked her head to indicate that they should follow her into a small examination room, thankfully not the quarantine room that Clint had been held in earlier. The memory of climbing up onto Clint's bed to give him a blow job was still very present in Phil’s mind.

Dr. Sanchez called the nurse take a blood sample. The doctor then put Clint through the standard set of tests; heart rate, blood pressure, and so on. She listened to his heart and lungs, rolled the leg of his sweatpants up to test his reflexes with the little hammer thing, and asked him a battery of questions designed to check his mental state.

Then come the embarrassing ones. "How many times did you orgasm after you left Medical?"

"Um, three," Clint said, glancing at Phil for confirmation. Phil nodded.

"And did you ejaculate each time?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Was there roughly the same amount of ejaculate?"

"Uh…" Clint looked helplessly at Phil, who could feel his own ears turning red.

But he managed to keep his voice even as he said, "As best as I can judge, yes." He guessed it felt like Clint was shooting the same amount of cum down his throat…

Dr. Sanchez made a note on her clipboard, and the nurse came back in with a sheaf of paper. She perused the top two sheets for a minute, then looked up.

"Well, all I can say for certain at this point is that it's definitely not Pon Farr."

"Huh?" Clint blinked. He was obviously tired and having trouble following.

"Since you're not Vulcan, I mean, that means it's definitely not Pon Farr." Dr. Sanchez was grinning, and Phil realized she was making a joke, which had fallen completely flat. "Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood a little," she said.

"That's okay, Doc, I'm just kinda tired," Clint said with a weak smile.

"And hungry, too, I expect. Your blood sugar is low. Look, the drug is obviously out of your system, tests confirm that. We still have no idea what it was or how it did what it did to you and Agents Javed and Yeong. So go have something to eat, then get a good night's sleep. I'll want to schedule some more tests, but they can wait until tomorrow."

Clint rolled his eyes at that, and Phil couldn't blame him.

"And you're both having mandatory sessions with one of the counselors in Psych."

This time Clint groaned, but when Phil shot him a look, he got a shrug which he knew meant Clint was resigned to it and wouldn't fight it.

"That everything?" Clint asked.

"Yes. Except that I want to apologize once more for Dr. Warren's behavior."

"Wasn't your fault," Clint answered quickly, even though he had every right to still be very pissed off.

"He's a member of my staff which makes me responsible for him, especially when his behavior towards a patient was not only extremely unprofessional, but potentially detrimental to that patient's well-being," Dr. Sanchez said. "He won't be working with patients in the future, if I have anything to say about it."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Thanks Doc." Clint turned to Phil, "I'm going to go get something to eat, Doctor's orders. You wanna come with?" The question was casual, but Phil could see the slight tension in Clint, and figured that there was probably something else he wanted to get off his chest.

"Sure. I could eat."

It was another silent trip through the quiet halls to the small 24-hour mess that had a wall of vending machines and coffee makers at one end, and a grill staffed by a short-order cook at the other, with seating for about fifty people in between. The vending machines had everything from chips and chocolate bars to sandwiches, packaged salads, microwave burritos, soup cups, and so on. Phil had eaten more meals from those machines than he could even begin to count, but Clint headed to the other end, and Phil followed.

"Evening Jamal," Clint said to the Middle-Eastern man behind the counter. "Burger and fries, please."

"Sure thing, Clint," he said with a smile, "And for you Agent Coulson?"

"Just a burger for me, please."

"Bacon and cheese?"

"No bacon," Phil hesitated.

"C'mon boss, live a little," Clint said, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Cheese and fried onions," Phil said, grinning. He was very glad that Clint was in good enough spirits to tease him.

They got trays and drinks while Jamal cooked up their orders, and Clint wandered over to the vending machines. Phil assumed he was getting himself a chocolate bar for dessert, and was surprised when instead he came back with a package of powdered mini-donuts instead, one of Phil's not-so-secret vices.

They sat down across a table from each other with their food and ate, exchanging a few words about what had happened on the op before it had gone spectacularly sideways.

"Anyway," Clint said as he finished mopping up a truly impressive puddle of ketchup with the last of his fries, "I just wanted to say thanks for, um, being there and, uh, doing everything that you did for me. I, uh, know I kinda put you in a tough position, asking for you, I mean, so I just wanted you to know that, uh, I really, you know… appreciate it."

Phil swallowed, not sure what to say. 'You're welcome,' sounded ridiculous even in his head, but some variation on 'No problem,' or Don't mention it,' was clearly the wrong response to Clint's obviously heartfelt gratitude. Phil had an absurd impulse to reach across the table and take Clint's hand, which he resolutely squashed. It was going to be so hard to forget the feel of Clint's naked skin against his, Phil realized, looking into Clint's grey-green eyes that were holding his steadily, despite the hesitant way he'd delivered his thanks.

"I'm glad I was there. I'm glad I could help. I'm…" Phil cleared his throat. "I'm honored that you trust me enough to have asked me." Phil felt the tips of his ears heating up, but he couldn't regret his words when he saw the small, shy smile that spread across Clint's face.

"Trust you with everything, Phil. Always."

"And I, you." Phil was pretty sure he managed to keep his voice steady for those three words.

"Thanks," Clint said quietly, then his jaw cracked as he yawned hugely. "Sorry 'bout that. Guess I need to go catch up on some sleep. I'll, uh, see you around."

Phil nodded. "Take a couple of days off," he said. "More if you need them."

Clint shrugged. "I'll see how I feel. G'night Phil," he said getting up from the table.

"Goodnight, Clint." Phil watched his retreating form with a mixture of longing and relief. Having had a taste of what it was like to have Clint Barton as a lover made Phil want it more than he could remember wanting anything in a very long time. But that wasn't going to happen, so he was relieved to watch Clint walk away, putting himself out of Phil's reach, removing the temptation for Phil to bear his soul and ask for something that he had no right to.

Phil opened the package of donuts and ate them slowly as he walked back to his office to his office. It would be a while before he'd be able to face going back to his quarters. Alone.

~~~~~~

_A week later…_

"Hey boss, you busy?" Clint Barton stuck his head into Phil's office late on Friday afternoon, when Phil was trying to finish up a bunch of equipment requests so that he could go home and… relax. That's what people did on the weekend. They relaxed.

"No, just finishing up some reports, what is it?" Phil shuffled the papers on his desk so that the equipment requests covered the draft of a Form 893-D: Recommendation for Changes to SHIELD Policies & Procedures, that he'd been planning to read over (again) after he'd finished his other work.

"I, just… if you have a couple of minutes I, uh, wanted to talk to you. In, uh, private." Clint said with his hand still on the doorknob.

"Now's fine," Phil said, looking up with what he hoped was a warm, pleasant smile while his stomach instantly tied itself in knots. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked, even though he had a pretty good guess.

Clint closed the door behind himself and stepped to the middle of Phil's office. "Well, uh, it's been a week since the, uh, Sex Pollen incident‑"

"Sex Pollen?" Phil repeated incredulously.

"That's what Dr. Sanchez keeps calling it. She's some kind of Star Trek nerd or something. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about, uh, what happened so, um, I wondered if you'd like to, uh, go to dinner with me?"

"You want to talk about the…" Phil shook his head. He refused to call it 'Sex Pollen' out loud. "Last week's incident over dinner? In a restaurant?"

"Or, you know, a coffee shop, or a diner or something, if a restaurant's too… I just, I don't really want to do it here and I thought that maybe inviting you to my place would be weird and," Clint face crumpled. "Fuck, I'm, doing this all wrong."

"No." Seeing Clint looking so miserable, Phil got up from behind his desk and came around to where Clint was standing, looking a little lost, in the middle of the room. "No, you're not doing it wrong. I'm just surprised, that's all, that you want to talk about it."

"But you said! Coulson, 'a week' you said, once we'd had time to 'process' you said. Dammit, I talked to the shrink and everything. You promised we'd talk about it!"

"We will, of course we will, if you want to." Phil said quickly. "I just… I wasn't sure if maybe once you'd had time to think that you, ah, that maybe you'd feel differently. About talking, I mean."

Clint shook his head. "You're not getting out of this."

"I'm not trying to, I swear," Phil said. "We'll talk, and we'll do it wherever you want. At a restaurant, or a coffee shop, or your place, or mine."

"I'm, uh, I'm not sure your quarters is such a good idea." Now Clint was looking down at the floor.

"Actually, I meant my apartment," Phil said softly.

"Your…" Clint's head snapped up. "Phil," he said slowly, "did you just invite me to go home with you?"

That hadn't actually been what Phil meant; he'd just suggested it because he thought it would be better to talk about what had happened between them in private, rather than in a crowded restaurant or a noisy coffee shop or diner. But now Clint was looking at him, his face a mix of nervousness and hope.

"Yes, but just to talk," Phil said. He could feel his face heating, however, because even the words acknowledged that something other than talking was a possibility. He turned back to his desk to cover his sudden embarrassment, and switched off his computer, sweeping his eyes across his paperwork to make sure there wasn't anything else he needed to deal with before he left. "Come on, then," he said, shrugging into his suit jacket. "We'll pick up some food on the way."

"Sounds like a plan, boss," Clint said with a wide grin.

They stopped at a Chinese take-out near Phil's building, and Clint carried the bags of food up the three flights of stairs to Phil's apartment on the top floor of a converted brownstone. Phil tried to ignore the nerves that had been building since they left SHIELD, and managed to make sure that his hands didn't shake as he unlocked the door, because he knew Clint would be watching.

"It's small," he said unnecessarily as he opened the door straight into the living/dining area. "You can put the food down there." Phil gestured at the counter separating the galley kitchen from the rest of the room. "I'm just going to go, ah, change." Phil couldn't bring himself to even glance at Clint, because he knew damn well the expression 'into something more comfortable' was running through both their minds. "Food first, then talking, okay? There are plates and cutlery and stuff in the kitchen. Obviously." Phil escaped down the short hall to his bedroom before he could say something even more asinine.

Once the door was firmly closed behind himself, Phil took a couple of deep breaths. 'You can do this, Coulson. Clint is here to talk about the… the Sex Pollen incident… when you tied him to your bed and fucked him.' If Phil Coulson had been a lesser man, he would have dropped his face into his hands and sighed. Instead, he stripped out of his suit and swapped it for a pair of navy blue chinos and pale grey button-down. He allowed himself the vanity of running a comb through his hair before heading back out.

He found Clint seated on one of the two stools at the kitchen island, their take-out dished up onto plates, with a beer from his fridge next to each. Clint was already digging into his spare-ribs and had a smudge of sauce at the corner of his mouth. Phil wanted to lick it off. 

Instead he sat down next to Clint and took a long, fortifying pull on his beer before digging into his food. While they ate, Clint told a long involved story about a prank one of the junior agents had tried to play on Jasper. Phil had already heard Jasper's side of the story, so he filled in some of the details as well. By the time they'd finished eating, Phil was more relaxed, telling himself he'd be able to deal calmly with whatever Clint wanted to talk about.

"I'll, ah, just put these in the dishwasher. Why don't you grab us another couple of beers and go sit on the sofa? Then we'll talk."

Clint nodded, slipped off his stool and opened the fridge. Phil gathered up the plates and rinsed them to give himself a couple more minutes to breathe. When he headed into the living room, he found Clint standing in the middle of the room rather than sitting on the sofa. He looked worried.

"Clint, are you okay?"

Clint took a step forward, closing the distance between them to a few inches.

"I have some things I want to say to you, things I need you to know," Clint said, looking into his eyes. "So yeah, we'll talk. But just to be clear up front, talking's not the only thing I want to do with you tonight, boss."

"I…" Phil swallowed. His heart was thumping in his chest. "I like it better when you call me Phil."

Clint's smile was soft and slow and made Phil want to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Instead he gestured towards the sofa, sat down, and picked up his beer. After a moment's pause, Clint joined him.

"So to start with, I know I said it before, so this is the last time, promise, but thank you, Phil," Clint said with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Not just for, uh, helping me through the whole Sex Pollen thing, but for everything else you did. Kicking Dr. Warren out, getting me out of medical, clearing the halls so no one saw me stumbling along with a woody‑"

"Clint, I‑"

"No, please Phil. Let me say this stuff. It's important."

"Of course, I'm sorry." Phil wrapped both hands around his beer bottle and then stuck them between his knees.

"You… you did absolutely everything you could think of to help, to make me feel better, to take care of me. Even though some of it, a lot of it, in fact, like threatening to shoot Dr. Warren, and getting the cameras shut down, and declaring a false bio-contamination emergency, could have got you in trouble."

Phil grinned a little.

"Yeah, okay, I know you and Fury are pretty tight, but he still must have been pretty pissed."

"He wasn't happy with me, that's for sure," Phil said. He wasn't about to admit that what Nick had actually said was, 'If you don't get your head out of your ass and do something about Barton pretty damn soon I swear I'm going to assign the two of you to man the Arctic Monitoring Base for six months.'

"All that stuff you did, made me feel, well, I was pretty messed up, not having any control over, um, myself, but you made it okay. Made me feel safe. That…" Clint's voice got thick, and he paused, and took a sip of his beer.

Phil stayed quiet, waiting for Clint to finish.

"It was, uh, the most," Clint cleared his throat again, but soldiered on, "the most caring thing that anyone's ever done for me. And so, regardless of, uh, anything else, I need you to know how much it meant to me, Phil."

Phil had to swallow around a lump in his throat before he could answer. "I'm glad. I'm glad you asked me, and I'm glad I was able to make it a little less awful."

"It wasn't awful. It hurt and it was embarrassing and I hated not having any control, but it wasn't awful. It wasn't awful because it was you, and I…" Clint stopped again, and looked down at the floor for a minute. "The shrink asked me how I'd feel if I didn't tell you everything. I said I'd probably hate myself, but that isn't making it any easier."

"Would it help if I told you that I care about you a great deal?" Phil said, wishing he could see Clint’s face.

"Yeah," Clint head came back up. "It'd also help if you promise that we're still gonna be friends, no matter what. 'Cause I trust you Phil, and if you say it then I'll know it's true."

Phil desperately wanted to reach out and wrap Clint up in his arms and tell him that it was going to be okay. Instead he said, "Friends, no matter what. I promise."

It seemed to be enough, because Clint smiled. "Okay, so the parts that weren't awful were pretty great, and I'm not just talking about the sex. I'm talking about having you, being with you. Being in your bed. I liked that, I liked that a lot, even if the reason was fucked up. So what I need to tell you, is that I'd like it to happen again, without the Sex Pollen this time, if that's something you, uh, would be interested in."

Phil wanted to say 'yes' right away, without reservation, but he'd known Clint Barton for going on five years, and he knew it wasn't quite as simple as that. So he forced himself to say, "I am definitely interested in having sex with you again, on certain conditions."

"Not the answer I was expecting. What conditions?" Clint had tensed up a little, and Phil felt bad about that, but it couldn't be helped. He needed to protect himself, a little bit, at least.

"Just to be completely clear, are we talking about just once, as a kind of 'Sex without the Pollen' thing, or, ah, were you thinking of it being more of a regular occurrence?"

"Regular occurrence. And Phil," Clint said slowly and deliberately. "I just want to let you know that this conversation is way, way more excruciating than I imagined it being.

Phil shrugged. "You've known me for five years, what did you expect?"

Clint cracked a very small grin at that. "I was expecting a contract negotiation."

"No contracts, just a couple of conditions. One: exclusivity, and two: openness about our relationship."

"Say what?" Clint's eyes were wide and his mouth was gaping open.

"I don't do casual, I don't share, and I don't sneak around. If we're going to be dating, we'll be doing it openly and exclusively. Those are my conditions." Phil was playing the smooth, calm, man-with-a-plan agent, but heart was pounding and his palms were sweating and if his hands hadn't still been wrapped around his beer bottle, he was pretty sure they'd be shaking.

"You want to date me?"

Phil wanted to back down. Wanted to laugh it off and say something like 'or we could just be friends-with-benefits, isn't that what it's called now?' But his pride wouldn't let him. If he was going to be naked and vulnerable with Clint, he needed it to mean something, dammit.

"I'm not sure how much actual going out on dates we'll have time for, given our schedules and your propensity to jump off buildings and end up in medical, but if we're going to be sleeping together, then I want us to be a couple, and not hide it." Phil managed to get through that little speech with his eyes locked on Clint's. Then he forced himself to keep them there as he said the next part, the part that felt like his heart tearing in half. "But if that's not something you're comfortable with, then I'm afraid‑"

"Fuck, I want to kiss you so much right now," Clint said, surging forward into Phil's space. Phil managed to put his beer down on the floor without spilling it and get one arm around Clint who was climbing into his lap. "Can I, please?" Clint asked, staring down at him. Phil nodded dumbly and a moment later Clint's lips were pressed to his surprisingly gently. Not the frenzied assault Phil had been expecting but instead a slow, tender exploration that made his heart melt.

"Was so afraid I'd never have this again," Clint mumbled into his ear between gentle brushes of lips. "That I'd only have memories of a mission gone sideways and you doing your duty."

"Wasn't doing my duty," Phil said, putting both arms around Clint and holding him close, wanting to feel his body, now strong and solid and sure. "I care about you so much, Clint. I hated to see you hurting like that; I would've done anything to try to make it better."

"You did." One of Clint's hands was at the open throat of Phil's shirt and he paused until Phil figured out he was waiting for permission and nodded. Phil slid one hand under Clint's t-shirt and up his spine. Clint arched into him and moaned. "You made it so much better, Phil." Clint's agile fingers made short work of the buttons and he was spreading Phil's shirt open and tugging it out of his pants. "Want to touch you. Didn't get to touch you. Want…" Clint kissed Phil then, hard, and for long moments he was lost in the raw sensuality of Clint's body.

When they finally parted for air, Phil leaned back a little so he could see Clint's eyes. "What do you want?"

"Want to go to bed with you. Tonight. Now."

Phil can't think of a good reason to refuse, and his libido, which has been on a low simmer ever since the 'Sex Pollen' incident, revved into high gear immediately, his cock firming up in his pants and his hips surging upwards, wanting more contact with Clint's.

"Yeah, Phil. Want you," Clint moaned, grinding against him.

"Okay, but bedroom, not here. I'm not fucking on the sofa like some teenager in his parent's rec room."

For some reason that made Clint laugh and kiss him again, hard and deep and Phil had one hand on Clint's spine and the other on his ass, and Clint was moaning, or maybe it was him.

"Yeah, fuck, bedroom," Clint gasped, and climbed out of his lap, then grabbed his hand and pulled, which made Phil grin stupidly. He can't remember the last time he was this spontaneous, this carefree. This happy.

"This way," Phil said when he realized that Clint didn't know his way around the apartment and was waiting for him to lead. As Clint followed him into the bedroom, Phil was glad that he'd kept up his soldier's habit of keeping the space neat and tidy. The sheets were clean and the bed was made and the pillowcases matched and... and Clint was tackling him onto the bed, not paying a damn bit of attention to Phil's housekeeping.

Phil let himself be pinned by a happy, horny, Clint Barton who was alternately kissing him senseless and stripping both their clothes off. Once he had them both naked (wonderfully, gloriously naked), Clint slowed down a little, and started to explore Phil's body, with murmurs of narration.

"One of the worst parts of it was having my hands tied because it meant I couldn't touch you," he murmured. "I've wanted to get my hands on you for so long." Clint demonstrated by sitting up and running his hands along Phil's arms, shoulders, and chest, then slowly down to his belly where Phil's cock lay twitching. Keeping his eyes locked on Phil's, Clint curled his hand around it and gave it a single long, slow stroke.

There was something going on, though. Some odd expression on Clint's face that Phil couldn't decipher. So he asked again, "What do you want, Clint?"

"I… Do you, um? I like to pitch as well as catch, if you…" Clint blushed, but met Phil's gaze steadily.

"I'd love to have you fuck me," Phil said, his own face heating up at the thought.

"Really? That's… that's awesome."

"Lube's in the nightstand," Phil said, grinning now. "You'll need to go slow. It's been a while."

"Don't worry, I'm gonna love taking my time with you." Clint wasn't kidding. He slicked his fingers and delved behind Phil's ball-sac with them, finding his pucker and starting to work it slowly. Then he shifted so that he could suck Phil's cock and play with one of his nipples at the same time.

Phil moaned and let his eyes flutter closed. The things Clint was doing to his body… Phil was pretty sure he was going to die of pure pleasure. At first he tried to stay quiet, or at least dignified, but by the time Clint had three fingers in his ass and most of Phil's cock down his throat, Phil was thrashing and moaning and begging.

"Please, Clint. Need you to fuck me."

Clint drew off his cock with a filthy slurp and Phil could hear the grin in his voice when he said, "I think that can be arranged, boss."

Clint shifted again, and Phil pried his eyes open to see him kneeling in position, slicking his cock up with more lube in preparation.

"Ready?"

"More than. Get on with it, Barton." Phil tried to growl but he was afraid it came out closer to a whine.

"How do you like it, sir?" Clint asked, teasing as he lifted one of Phil's legs up onto his shoulder and then shuffled in close, positioning himself at Phil's entrance and nudging it with the head of his cock, but not pushing in, not yet.

"I like…" Phil faltered. He'd never been asked before, at least not 'in the moment' like this, and he wasn't sure what to say. He thought about what he wanted from Clint, sexually, but also out of bed. What he hoped they could be together. "I like slow… until you can't go slow any more."

"I can do that," Clint said with a smile that made his eyes sparkle. He pushed in gently, and so slowly that Phil groaned at the sensation. "Like that, that what you wanted?"

"Perfect," Phil said on a soft breath, and moaned again. "You feel perfect inside me."

"You feel pretty perfect yourself," Clint said, crowding in closer and adjusting the angles a little before pulling back out and sinking in again. "Good?"

"Fantastic." Phil let himself drift on the incredible sensations of Clint's cock stroking into him. "So good."

Phil heard the click of the lube cap and then felt Clint's hand, warm and slick, close loosely around his cock. He moaned again, loudly, as Clint started to jerk him in the same slow rhythm.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Clint." Phil forced his eyes open. He needed to see, to check, to know that Clint was enjoying this as much as he was. What he saw reassured him. Clint was looking down at him, rapt. Phil was almost embarrassed to be the focus of Hawkeye's intense, appreciative gaze.

"You're gorgeous, all laid out for me like this, just… taking. I love that I can do this for you, that you want it, that you like it. I want…" Clint shook his head ruefully.

"What?" Phil asked, concerned that there was something Clint was missing out on.

"I just like making you feel good, that's all," Clint said, and punctuated his words with a slightly more forceful thrust of his hips that made Phil groan. "You like that too, huh?"

"Feels amazing. Whatever you want, Clint. Whatever you need, go for it."

"Yeah?" Clint caught his lower lip between his teeth, a habit that Phil was going to have trouble with from now on, because it would remind him of the feel of Clint's cock in his ass.

"Fuck me, Clint," Phil said, putting just enough command and just enough challenge into his voice to make Clint smirk at him.

Clint's next stroke slammed into him and forced the air out of his lungs with a sound that was half-way between a moan and a whine.

"Yeah, let me hear it. I wanna know what I'm doing to you. I wanna know that this is as good for you as it is for me, Phil. Because it's amazing and you're amazing and…" Clint stopped talking and started fucking into him harder. Phil wanted to let go, to let Clint see him like this, to give Clint this show of trust and vulnerability.

So Phil moaned unabashedly and curled his free leg around Clint's back, angling his hips so Clint could get just that extra tiny bit deeper on the next thrust. 

"Fuck yeah," Clint said, staring down at him, his bright eyes ablaze.

Phil felt like he was going to crumble to pieces before either of them came. With one hand he grabbed hold of Clint's arm, his fingers digging deep into the taut bicep, that was holding Clint above him in a one-armed push-up. Holding on even as he let himself go, chanting "Yeah, yeah, yeah" as each of Clint's thrusts punched the breath out of him.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Phil. So. Goddam. Good."

It was good. It was so good. Clint's hot, hard cock stroking into him just right and filling him perfectly. Clint's hand on his cock, stroking in time to his powerful thrusts. And Clint above him, looking at him as if he, as if this, was really something special. It was exactly what Phil wanted. What he needed. What he… Phil threw his head back and cried out a short, sharp vowel as his orgasm hit him like a punch to the solar plexus.

"Yeah, Phil. Yeah," Clint was saying, thrusting harder and faster as Phil's muscles clenched tight around him. "Yeah!" With one last hard thrust Clint shuddered to a stop, gasping. For a moment neither of them moved, their breath rasping harshly in the quiet of Phil's bedroom, then Clint uncurled his hand from around Phil's sticky cock and planted it on the bed next to Phil's shoulder.

"Gonna move now, okay?" Clint said, and Phil's sex-addled brain to a moment to figure out what Clint meant.

"Yes, fine," Phil said, letting go of Clint's arm when he moved to ease Phil's leg down off his shoulder and slide out before dropping to the mattress.

"Heh, that was awesome," Clint said, and Phil turned his head to see Clint grinning at him.

Phil couldn't help but smile back. "Awesome just about covers it."

"So, which one of us gets to tell Jasper? I'm assuming you'll tell Fury, and I'll tell Nat. But neither of them are gonna spread it around. Or is there a form we need to fill in or something?" Clint's grin had turned cheeky.

"I'll let Jasper know. And no, there's no form for dating. I've been thinking, though," Phil said as he cleaned himself up with a couple of tissues and then handed the box to Clint. "That in case an incident like this, ah, Sex Pollen," Phil frowned at the words, "thing ever happens again, it would be a good idea to have some sort of form people could fill out in advance, to indicate who they'd want to, ah, help them. If the situation arose, so to speak."

Clint was laughing outright at him now. "Please tell me you weren't thinking about forms while we were fucking. I'll be pretty damn pissed at you."

"No, of course not. It's what I was working on when you came to my office. What do you think?"

"The, uh, other party would have to agree. On the form. Like, sign off to say that he/she/they was willing," Clint said thoughtfully.

"Yes. Of course." Phil had already planned for that.

"It would lead to some interesting conversations between people who work together, that's for sure."

"That might not be a bad thing."

"Might have got us here," Clint patted the pillow under Phil's head with another small, happy grin, "sooner."

"It just might have." Phil smiled and leaned in to kiss Clint. So long as they were here now, Phil was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [cakeisnotpie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie) for Beta-reading!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/) and on Twitter @MathiesonJo


End file.
